


in the shallows

by Saul



Series: Fear No Fall [3]
Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Cross-Species Is Not Easy, Inhuman/ Human, M/M, Magic Doesn't Help, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7308547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saul/pseuds/Saul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For four days, Andrew and Neil know no one but each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the shallows

**Author's Note:**

> ok Fear No Fall is a nice (mostly) child-friendly series so I feel a little awful adding this here, but I know some people don't have tumblr and maybe would want to read this.
> 
> please be **warned** : this is nsfw, and it's all mermaid/human. if monster porn doesn't float your boat, you may want to jump ship.

“I have,” a shift, “to sleep,” pebbles clacking underwater, “somewhere dry.”

The sun had long set, the moon slow to take its place. Night changed the isolated cave into a black pit, gleaming rocks and edges and ripples in the shallow pool the last vestiges of caught light. Reclined on one sloping wall, red shimmered alongside splayed tan, one head tilted back and one curled onto a broader chest.

“You’re so needy,” the latter groused.

Andrew flicked his ear.

Against his skin, Neil smiled. 

He also didn’t move, which was an issue, as his tail over his ankles was the reason Andrew couldn’t.

(Or, he could, but - it wasn’t pressing.)

(He had a hand curled over Neil’s ribs, ghosting down to trace along thin gills. Under his hand, they fluttered. Barely audible, Neil’s breath hitched.)

“Where were you thinking?” 

“The ship.”

“That’s pretty far.”

“I’m sick of sitting on rocks, and I’m not sleeping in the dirt in wet clothes.”

“Your shirt’s practically dry.”

“We still have to leave.”

“Is that all?”

Even with eyes adjusted for the night, it was very, very dark.

He pressed fingers gently to end of a gill, catching his nails just under the edge. Pebbles re-arranged themselves as Neil shifted, restless; the tail fell away from Andrew’s ankles, but he tilted his head back to nose under Andrew’s jaw, his breath warm over prickling skin.

After a beat, Andrew deigned to relax his shoulders and tilt his head for better access.

“I know how to solve one of those issues,” Neil murmured.

“Really? What is it? Instead of rocks, I could sit on you?”

Teeth followed the cord of muscle running up his neck, lips settling against the hard corner of his jaw. Again, the rocks under them shifted; again, Neil squirmed. “Yeah. Sure. That works.”

Every time, without fail, the very moment they moved beyond talk to something physical, Neil managed to fluster himself into forgetting his  sarcastic eloquence.

Andrew would’ve been flattered, but mostly he thought: what an idiot.

(It lacked the heat it should’ve.)

(Instead that heat dried his throat and pooled below his stomach, and he concentrated, carefully, on keeping his breathing even.)

 _I’d rather see you while I do_ , came the thought. What left his mouth was, “Once we’re outside.”

Finally, Neil moved off him. Andrew didn’t bother gathering his clothes - he still had his pants, and besides, they’d be back – but they didn’t make it out faster than they’d made it in, predominantly because Neil couldn’t  get enough of what Andrew offered and partially because Andrew couldn’t entirely mind.

By the time they were out of the tunnel, the seawater up to Andrew’s chest and moonlight far brighter over their heads, Neil was a wriggling mess. Arms looped over Andrew’s shoulders and breathing heavy enough to get in the way of kissing, his tail wouldn’t decide how it wanted to curl around his legs, only that it wanted to be in the way of Andrew moving anywhere fast. Mercifully - a product of much practice - its sharper spines and edges kept from digging in, but that just meant the bulk of its softer underside wouldn’t leave him be.

Having enough of that, Andrew took a determined step forward on the shifting rocks and backed Neil into the cliff-face. 

“Oh,” Neil breathed when he sunk down to an underwater ledge and Andrew straddled him. “Alright.”

Curled fingers rubbed down Andrew’s back, sharpened claws kept safely tucked away. Neil was flushed in that near full body way of his, cheeks to chest darkened in the moonlight; behind and below them, fins flared, and he tried, Andrew thought, his best to keep his tail from moving too much. It mostly worked. It worked better when Andrew caught his lips and licked into his mouth. It worked best when Andrew slid back until he hit a tell-tale bump and, widening his legs, canted his hips into it.

From top to tip, Neil shuddered. 

It’d be a lie to say it hadn’t taken some getting used to, but aside from the shape, the mechanics remained the same. A little pressure here, and Neil’s arousal grew heavy in his hand. A little slide, a little curl, Neil’s moan in his ears and cock lengthening in his grip. One ridiculous part was that it easily reached his forearm in length and thickness – the other ridiculous part was it was blue, warm, and coated in some sort of thin slime.  

It was also, as evidenced by Neil’s renewed squirming, terribly sensitive. Endurance was apparently not in the merfolk’s foreplay vocabulary.

Eyes half-lidded, chest heaving, Neil buried his head into Andrew’s shoulders and groaned his name, low and long and a little gravelly. From where he’d stilled his hand at the base of Neil’s cock, his hips settled just behind it, Andrew let go entirely to drag a finger up the length. Neil shuddered again, body undulating once underneath Andrew, and keened, because just as Neil could be trusted to fall apart he could be trusted to be loud about it.

Andrew really, really couldn’t mind.

The night played nicely along Neil’s well-muscled back, his skin shining with seawater and moonlight. Andrew hooked his chin over one warm shoulder and appreciated every bump, every groove, every scar, every piece that spoke to what had led Neil here, everything that made him exactly who he was. 

Between his legs, Neil bucked, as desperate for touch as he’d always been.

It reminded him of his own neglected condition, made his breath catch and eyes shut. 

Anatomy being what it was, it wasn’t something they’d ever be able to do. That was alright, so long as they had the rest of each other.

Idea in mind, Andrew kept his hands away, pulled away – Neil clicked at him, unhappy and momentarily distressed - and said, “Lay back and hold still.”

Neil clicked again, a reflexive sound of no meaning beyond frustration and anticipation.

Then, he leaned back. And, save for a rapidly rising and falling chest, he held still.

Personally, Andrew appreciated the front more than the back: all lean power and coiled tension, chest taut and arms defined, hands placed back over his head. The stubborn set to his jaw, the undone look in his eyes. Neil’s scarred skin dipping neatly into gleaming red; ever blue, his cock ran to his bellybutton.

As Andrew sat and appreciated, Neil moved. Only his chin, only a tilt back, the long line of his throat exposed to the air and blown-wide pupils watching him from drooping lashes. Fully acceptable.

The rest of him trembled in keeping still. Also acceptable.

Andrew placed his hands flat on Neil’s stomach on either side of what he wanted touched, feeling the flutter of muscle and careful, careful, barely-held restraint underneath. He leaned forward to catch Neil’s mouth, who responded as eagerly as expected. But he refused to deepen it, and soon enough, his tongue running along Neil’s lips alone had him close to snarling (or sobbing; it was hard to tell).

Other than the kiss and flattened hands, he didn’t move a single muscle.

“Fuck you,” Neil gasped against him, claws scratching white lines into the rock below them, “fuck you, fuck, fuck, shit, damn you, fuck, just– Andrew, _fu–uck_.”

A sob crawled out of his throat, but he held still. A bit longer and he could’ve gotten off on this alone, Andrew knew, but when he wrapped both hands along Neil’s length and gave a strong, tight-fisted pull, to feel the pulse work itself out as Neil came, the seizing muscles between his legs and under his hands to follow was, in itself, a pleasure. Neil’s cries dimmed to moans dimmed to a happy hum that vibrated from his throat down his chest and on into Andrew’s skin. He hissed when Andrew milked out the last of white fluid, eyes squeezing shut as oversensitive shocks ran through him. He was a full-bodied slump amid the rocks, a happy testament to something Andrew had done right. 

He looked like a mess.

He was a mess.

He looked at Andrew like he’d hung the moon.

Andrew, chest fuller than it had any right to be or otherwise would be, his ribcage too brittle to contain it, finally shifted on his seat, pants far too tight, and asked, “What?”

Neil asked, the corner of his mouth turning up and the teeth within catching moonlight, “Can I blow you?”

“You’re disgusting,” Andrew told him. Shifted. And then: “Yes.”

(It took a measure of time, a few stolen kisses as they swapped positions and Neil sunk below the water's surface, but -- there was something to be said about those lacking a gag reflex.)

(Really, it more than made up for the early shot.)


End file.
